In a Younger Man's Cape
by Barbarossa
Summary: An elderly farmer with a surprising secret is discovered by an enterprising young reporter looking into her family past.


**In a Younger Man's Cape**

_It's nine o'clock on a Saturday  
>The regular crowd shuffles in<br>There's an old man sitting next to me  
>Making love to his tonic and gin<em>

_He says, "Son can you play me a memory_  
><em>I'm not really sure how it goes<em>  
><em>But it's sad and it's sweet<em>  
><em>And I knew it complete<em>  
><em>When I wore a younger man's clothes"<em>

- Billy Joel, Piano Man

**December 3rd, 2074**

"Alone", that was the word that came to mind as he groomed his aged face in front of the bathroom mirror. "She was always alone" he thought, but today was her birthday and he wasn't about to let her be alone on her birthday, even if the rest of the world had forgotten her. He looked well for someone of his advance age. Though he didn't have a lot of people like himself to compare to, most people who saw him thought him to only be in his late fifties or early sixties. Taking one last look in the mirror he swept his salt and pepper hair from his brow and pocketed his tobacco pipe and a small picture of his deceased wife which had been residing on a shelf above the sink. He turned off the light, making his way out of the bathroom and the down stairs. Each of the ancient steps creaked more loudly than the previous one as his feet descended upon them. Despite the creaking of the stairs, he heard the distinct sound of car tires crawling up the gravel driveway which led up to his house. Calmly making his way to the front door he heard the slam of a car door followed not long afterwards by the creaking of the porch steps as the unseen visitor made their way to the home's entrance. He opened the door just as the visitor raised their hand to knock.

Standing before him was a young woman whose eye's seemed to widen as she looked upon him. She had long black hair with green highlights, olive brown skin, and looked as though she couldn't have been more than twenty-five.

"Are you the owner of this farm?" she asked while brushing her windswept hair out of her face.

Furrowing his brow, he impatiently replied, "Yes. Now who are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Alison Kent, daughter of Mathew Kent, granddaughter of James Kent, great granddaughter of Calvin Kent, great great granddaughter of Jonathan Kent, great great great granddaughter of Conner Kent, great great great great granddaughter of Clark Kent. I came here to meet my great great great great grandfather."

He paused before finally speaking. "Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

"This is Kent farms in Smallville, Kansas, and you're Clark Kent?" a ting of uncertainty characterizing the tone of her question.

"Yes, this Kent farms, and yes my name is Clark Kent, but there are plenty of people living on the same farms their families were farming during the Great Depression"- something he knew wasn't exactly true as many of the farms had long since been bought up by massive corporations –"I'm sure that if you were to bother some of them you would discover that a few of the current owners share a name with one of their ancestors."

"Even after all my research, I thought the same thing might be true until the moment you opened that door." Gingerly, she reached into a small green and black purse and pulled out several letters and photographs. Looking through the photos she pulled out a single picture of a young boy, perhaps eight or nine, standing beside Clark, who looked almost identical to his current appearance. Flipping the picture over the date May 15th 1997 was clearly written in black ink.

Clark took the picture and began to look at it. "Where did you get this?" his voice quite, but pained as he asked the question.

"Grandpa Jimmy passed away a couple of weeks ago and he left me a bunch of his things. I found these letters, dozens of them actually, in an old dresser drawer marked 'grandpa's letters'. They're from you aren't they? They're birthday cards and graduation cards from you to Grandpa Jimmy. You were still sending him cards when he was in his fifties and he was still calling grandpa."

Not taking his eyes off of the picture, Clark calmly replied, "That's a pretty far fetched story."

"Except I've asked dozens of people around Smallville about you and even the oldest of the old say you've always been here, a kind of fixed figure in local folk lore. A constant in a world of change"

Finally looking up from the picture, Clark spoke. "Would you like to come inside? I think we've got a lot to discuss."


End file.
